His hands began rubbing my side. I pursed my lips, as his own delved frantically at my neck. I whimpered beneath him, fighting and flailing.
What did you say? he demanded.No, I didn’t. Which was not exactly true.
Shelby just shrugged and kept going, that body of hers moving underneath her simple clothes, performing its duty without any apparent discomfort.And then it dawned on him. Shelby.She paused and glanced over her shoulder. Yes?
You said you’d gotten all the horses.He hustled over and grabbed her arm. I told you. One rule. You don’t go in my stallion’s stall.
Ain’t going to muck itself—
His hand squeezed down hard of its own volition. He killed a stable hand a year ago. Trampled him to death in there. Don’t ever do that again.Wrong question to ask. Especially after a night of poker and drinking. Especially to a guy like Stern, who was categorically incapable of being anything but perfectly honest.
I hate that you’re so alone.You’ve got to be kidding—
I’m one of your oldest friends, right? If I don’t tell you like it is, who’s going to? And don’t get pissy with me—you picked a New York Jew, not one of the thousand other southern-fried stick-up-the-asses that went to that ridiculous college of ours to be your perpetual roommate. So fuck you.Are we going to play this hand out?